A set of brightly colored pencils scratched at the surface of Ginny's pink journal one midsummer morning at the Burrow. "Harry and Ginny Potter," the page's title read. Beneath was a clumsy drawing of a small family: A black haired boy with glasses, a redheaded girl beside him, and four smaller children, all displaying unique combinations of the Potter/Weasley gene pool. On the next page a small story was scribbled in the poorly developed handwriting of an eight year old girl.
"When I marry Harry Potter we will live in a big house in London with 4 kids and a dog. And we will smile at each other every day before we go to work and he will kiss me on the cheek and say, 'Ginny I love you.' We'll get married in a big church and I'll wear a long white dress with pink shoes and…"
A freckled hand interjected on the scene in front of Ginny's eyes. She had been so focused on her diary that she hadn't noticed Ron standing in the door to room where she was working. He grabbed the diary from her desk and jumped on her bed, holding it with the pages open well above her head, sticking his tongue out.
"Mum!" she screamed, jumping at the diary as if it were a matter of life or death. "MUM!"
Ron sprung off the bed with a loud thud, ran from the room and up the staircase, calling after her in a mocking tone. "When I marry Harry Potter… I'll wear a long white dress. I'm Ginny and I love Harry Potter even though I've never met him… Meh, meh, meh."
He stuck his tongue out at her again when he reached the landing by his room. Ginny had been on his heels the entire way up the 5 flights of stairs, screaming for her mother all the while. Ron held the diary far above her reach yet again.
"How do you know what he even looks like?" Ron asked matter-of-factly, referencing the picture.
"I don't!" Ginny fumed, "But mum told me what his dad looked like…" (Jump) "…and I thought it'd be close! Give…" (Jump) "Me…" (Grab) "My… Journal! MUUUUUMMMMM!"
An exasperated Molly Weasley emerged from the twins' room with a bundle of dirty laundry on her hip. "Ronald!" she yelled. "Give Ginny that diary back before I force you to eat Aunt Muriel's pie this weekend!"
Ron dropped the diary from his grasp in less than a second, eyes wide with terror. It was well known throughout the Weasley/McKinnon clan that no one was to touch Aunt Muriel's pie, after various family members had found it to be filled with frog spawn on more than one occasion. It was a hollow threat. But to a nine year old, the possibility of having to eat frog spawn is simply too much to risk.
The diary fell to the floor with a bang. Ginny glared at Ron triumphantly and bent over to pick it up. It had fallen open to the page about what the inside of their London house would look like. Moving to return to her room on the first floor, she held the diary close to her chest with both arms folded around it, just in case Ron decided that a spoonful of frog spawn was worth knowing a secret or two about his younger sister. But Ron did no more than stick his tongue out at her again and disappeared into his own room, slamming the door behind him in defeat.
With her nose in the air and a full intention to lock her door next time she set to journal, Ginny let her thoughts wonder back to Harry. What did he look like? And did he know that, at that moment, an eight year old girl already loved him more than he could imagine?
The rest of August passed in a haze, as Ginny began to face the idea of a new school year without Harry, Ron, or Hermione. She usually took out her stress by practicing Quidditch, sometimes for hours on end. But eventually the motions of throwing a ball at a chalked out circle on the garage wall got old, and she'd collapse in the Burrow's living room with a school book, attempting to get a head start on her NEWT material.
She'd passed most of her OWLs with flying colors, failing only Divination, which she couldn't even pretend to be upset about. The only problem was her lack of ideas over what profession to pursue after Hogwarts. Over the past few years she had increasingly grown to like the idea of professional Quidditch, and many believed that she showed promise, but McGonagall disapproved of the choice during career advice sessions, and encouraged her to pursue something more practical.
"The shelf life for a professional athlete is short, Ms. Weasley. That much is true in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. I am not saying you shouldn't pursue quidditch, but I am saying you need a backup plan."
Ginny made a face. What good were any plans – backup or otherwise – when they were all like to die in the next two years anyway?
"Your professors speak highly of your writing and analytical abilities. Have you considered a field like journalism?"
Her face changed to one of thoughtful consideration. She did like to write – almost as much as flying. Maybe McGonagal was on to something.
"For the Daily Prophet?"
McGonagal smiled, "Or the Quibbler. Whoever you like. It is just something to consider. Unless perhaps the Auror profession appeals to you…"
"No," Ginny answered quickly. She didn't mind defending herself at a moment's notice, but she also wasn't one to actively seek out trouble. That was Harry's job. And helping defend him seemed to always be a fulltime job in itself.
"Very well," said McGonagal. "But do consider journalism – and take these other pamphlets just in case."
Ginny tossed her career pamphlets aside after the meeting, barely glancing at most of them, and decided before OWLs were over to only continue on with subjects she found interesting, and of course, passed. So her 6th year schedule consisted of Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense against the Dark Arts, and Potions. Potions was so much more tolerable, and actually somewhat interesting, without Snape looming darkly in the front of the classroom.
But when the news reached the Burrow that Snape had been given the job of Headmaster an overwhelming sense of dread filled her insides. Hogwarts would certainly not be the Hogwarts of the past. Mrs. Weasley was sick with worry, changing her mind almost every half hour over whether or not Ginny should attend school at all. But Ginny protested every time her mother encouraged her to stay home. Even a Death Eater run Hogwarts was better than sitting at the Burrow alone every day, and at least Luna and Neville would be there too. She was confident that the three of them could tackle whatever obstacle Snape put in their way.
Besides, Ginny was already making plans. She knew several things: Dumbledore had left Harry the Sword of Gryffindor in his will, the Sword currently sat in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, and Harry would not reasonably be able to obtain it if not at school. So before the trio was scarcely gone from the wedding, the idea to steal the sword and deliver it to Harry began to consume her thoughts. It would be easy to steal with the help of the DA, and perhaps easy to deliver with the help of the Order. She had to get back to Hogwarts to help Harry. It was the only way to be useful.
And so on August 31st, Ginny went to bed with feelings of anxiousness stirring in her stomach, trying hard not to think about the fact that Harry would not be on the train with her tomorrow. Why had she never agreed to sit with him on previous train rides? It would at least be a happy memory to look back on in light of the current situation. She rolled over in the dark and saw her old diary open on her bedside, the pages glowing bright in the moonlight. She'd found it cleaning out her room on a rainy afternoon.
"At least I got his appearance right," she mumbled to herself, drifting slowly off to sleep. The lines of "When I marry Harry Potter…" floated through her head. And she fought tooth and nail to keep them from becoming Ifs.